


Breakfast Cake

by HorrendouslySerendipitous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Breakfast, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HorrendouslySerendipitous/pseuds/HorrendouslySerendipitous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hangovers suck. You know what else sucks? Waking up in your best friend's dad's bed.<br/>Because dads aren't hot... Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakfast Cake

Dave squinted at the morning light, putting a hand to his head and letting out a low groan. Everything seemed to ache, his legs, his back, and especially his head. He rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the soft down pillow in the hopes of maybe making the light shut the fuck up.

But this didn’t exactly smell like Dave’s two month old red sheets and care bear blanket (kept for ironic purposes, obviously). The comforter wrapped around him still smelled like laundry detergent, as well as fancy-schmancy cologne and the faint mustiness of tobacco.

In other words, it smelled like Egbert.

But Dave didn’t have the motivation to care about whether or not he’d stolen his best friend’s bed for the night, after what was obviously the best 18th birthday in existence. No wonder his stomach churned so much and his brain felt like it was about to burst- barhopping did that to a boy- er, a _man._

But what the hell was he supposed to tell John? “Hey man, sorry I crashed in your bed, I hope you enjoyed the smell of my shots-induced vomit”? Hell no. That was _definitely_ not the Strider way to do things. He could say that-

Wait.

John was out of town, on a trip visiting his “sick cousin” a few cities over.

Dave scrambled upright, ignoring the protests from his head and neck. Something wasn’t right. This impeccably clean room, everything in seeming order, from multitudes of dresser drawers to the flower arrangement on the bedside stand. The only thing out of disarray in this white walled, white floored room was him, the way he’d forced the comforter into a pile in the corner almost made Dave feel like a criminal.

His eyes darted around the room, from the ceiling fan to the crusty residue on the sheets below him, and finally to the cup of water and two red tablets that he took without hesitation. Who cares if it might be poison, as long as it ended this fucking headache.

A note still remained in the spot, at a perfect ninety degree angle, perfect just like everything else in the perfect room- well, mostly.

**DAVID**

**IF YOU ARE READING THIS IT MEANS YOU ARE AWAKE. I’VE LEFT THESE PAIN RELIEVERS IN CASE YOU MIGHT NEED THEM DUE TO THE LONGEVITY OF LAST NIGHT’S ENCOUNTER. YOU DID QUITE WELL.**

**I WILL BE WAITING FOR YOU DOWNSTAIRS WITH BREAKFAST.**

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what note-writing parental figure he’d “encountered” last night, and how deep the shit he was in actually was. He was in an ocean of shit. A chasm of shit. A bottomless pit of soon-to-be regrets.

That is to say- really, really deep.

He needed his shades, and the rest of his clothes, but they weren’t on the floor, as if they had been decimated for being clutter in this sea of tight corners and closed drawers.    At least Dad Egbert had the thought to put his passed-out body in a white button up shirt, oversized just enough for the edge to hit his mid-thigh and the sleeves to cover his hands with plenty of extra cloth. Dave was always slender, but Dad’s clothing just dwarfed him until he was like a little kid playing dress up.

Dave curled up on the bed, hugging his knees to his chest and staring at the door. He didn’t _have_ to move, if he didn’t want to. This bed was hella comfortable and the smell, Dave hated to admit it, was kind of intoxicating.

No, wait. Daddy Egbert wasn’t allowed to smell good. He wasn’t supposed to be hot. Drunk hot, maybe. Sober hot? Hell no.

Dave abruptly stood, every step a constant effort, one because even with the pain relievers he had a tell-tale limp from what Bro would call a “good night,” but mostly because he didn’t want to accept the reality of this situation. But he had to get his shades, and goddamn it, Dave without his shades was nothing.

The house seemed eerily quiet without the grating-yet-endearing sound of John’s constant snicker. Being here without his friend felt like cheating, and going down the stairs felt like he was about to get arrested, for slobbishness and grand sleeping with a father figure. But he kept going anyway, the smell of cinnamon making the trip a little less horrid, since even if he was in trouble, at least there was free food.

Dad was facing the oven, and Dave felt strange to see him out of a suit, instead wearing a tight-fitting tee shirt and plaid pajama pants. Dad turned, and Dave could see the surprise flicker in his eyes, before reverting to his usual stoic, but somehow charming expression. “Good morning, David,” he said through the pipe dangling from his mouth.

Dave almost corrected him on the name, but instead settled for a, “Good morning, Mr. Egbert,” as he sat himself upon a stool next to the island. He watched Dad Egbert silently work, gaining a small smirk from his apron with a tie printed on the front. He noticed how every move Dad made was deliberate- stirring, pouring, cracking eggs and measuring oil- yet each seemed to bring him joy. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Streusel,” he replied, wiping the stray powder from his apron. “John doesn’t seem to like it, says it’s a bit too much like cake, but I thought you deserved a treat.”

“Uh, for what?”

“Well, you had quite a time last night,” he explained as he cut the cinnamon-encrusted dish into squares. “Besides, when is there a bad time for cake? Breakfast cake, at that.”

A plate was set in front of him, and for the first time that morning Dave’s stomach rumbled. He scrambled for a fork, and without looking, Dad scolded him. “Don’t eat too fast, David. You don’t want to upset your stomach.” Dave rolled his eyes, but he did scale down his first bite, from half the slice to something a bit more human sized.

The silence that followed was normal, not even edging on awkward, but still Dave felt the need to fill the void. “So, do you cook ‘breakfast cake’ for all your, uh, ‘encounters.’”

Dad smirked in a way that was eerily similar to his son’s smile, and shook his head. “You make it sound like I have so many.”

“Well, don’t you? I mean, you’re pretty hot, beneath all that dad-ishness.”

“Is dad-ishness unattractive? You seemed to think it was very hot last night-“

“No no, I never said that! I just mean, you seem like the kind of guy that, um…”

Dad graciously ended Dave’s pain. “Yes, I’ve cooked breakfast for all of my partners, although I’d like to think they were all special in some way.”

Dave sat up a bit straighter, although his face remained relatively passive. “Even me?” …Not that he cared was Mr. Egbert thought. It wasn’t like he was attracted to him. He was… Dad hot.

 _And that’s all he’ll ever be._ Then why was there a pang of regret somewhere in Dave’s gut?

“Of course you’re special David. You’re my son’s best friend, after all.”

 _Oh._ “That’s it?”

Dad took a moment, like he was thinking. He slowly took off his tuxedo-apron and hung it on the hook, coming around and standing close to Dave, close enough that Dave could smell that essence, muted by the scent of shampoo, but god did Dave still love it; in a “son’s best friend” sort of way, of course. They were close enough that Dave could feel Dad’s body heat, although it might’ve just been his cheeks heating up and turning red.

His voice, still deep and firm, had a whisper of sincerity. “If you weren’t special I wouldn’t have cleaned your clothes, or picked up those silly sunglasses of yours so they wouldn’t get stepped on. I wouldn’t have left a note or cooked for you. But you are special, David, the most special something I’ve had in a long time.” And for the first time in a long time, Dave was speechless.

Dad took his time, leaning down and placing a too-chaste kiss on Dave’s soft lips. His cheeks burned even brighter as Dad pulled away, flashing him a particularly familiar trickster smile.

No, Dave had never let an Egbert win and this wasn’t going to be the first time. Before Dad could stand up completely Dave jumped, pulling Dad Egbert into a needy kiss and slowly wrapping his arms tightly around Mr. Egbert’s neck. Dad reciprocated, strong arms slowly wrapping around Dave’s waist, pulling him close as Dave shamelessly begged for more. He felt Dad’s expert tongue slither into his own mouth, and it occurred to him that this was only a taste of what he missed last night.

But finally they broke away, out of breath, Dave’s arms slowly unwound themselves and he sat back down. “Whoa.”

Dad didn’t say anything as he began to clean up the kitchen, and another comfortable-yet-uncomfortable silence commenced.

“…So, was I special enough to see again Friday night?”

Dad just smirked, “Be a good boy, David, and we’ll talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> You made it to the end! Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think, I always love comments. If you want more Homestuck, fanfiction updates, and other general funny shit, come check out my tumblr at horrendously-serendipitous.tumblr.com. Can't wait to hear from you!


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